


Three Way Treason

by Fran_fic



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Non Consensual, Original Character(s), Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Tragedy, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 18:37:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fran_fic/pseuds/Fran_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Revenge is the sweetest thing, the consequences not as sweet…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Though inspiration was taken from historical cultures, it's not meant to be an accurate description of any culture. It's a completely fictional world.

It was a moonless night in the streets. The big city almost never slept, but as I listened I could only hear faint sounds of the life I knew was all around. The back-alley, where I stood, was dark and filthy, and far removed from the houses of the rich, the streets of entertainment, or the palace. 

My men, four of them only, guarded the entrance to the alley, and for an occasional muffled cough, or whispered word, they were silent. A single torch, held by one of them, was my only source of light. It was just enough for me to be able to spot the dried-up corpse of a tiny dog curled in on itself against the wall beside my feet. It lay there as if it once had hid away, huddled down to sleep, and never woke up. I stepped away from the pathetic remains and prepared for a long wait. 

Would he come? 

I had waited like this in another alley, in another desolated part of the city, a few nights ago, but then he had not appeared. Days of careful planning had seemed to be in vain then. I had been highly vexed, and feared that we had been found out. However, he had managed to send us a letter, by a street boy, excusing his absence, and promising another night to me. If this promise was also broken, we might be forced to delay our plans. 

He was being true to his words this time. I heard my men quietly speaking with someone and the man with the torch guided a small figure toward me. The torch-bearer opened the door to a simple room, which we had acquired for this reason alone, and while he lit up a few lamps I motioned for the night-walker to follow me inside. He did so. My man left us and closed the door behind him.

For a moment we watched each other without speaking, though he could see more of me than I of him. He was heavily veiled and of his face only the eyes were visible. They were of a light color under dark lashes, the likes of which you can sometimes see on people from the northern regions. It isn’t unheard of that they mix with the light-skinned barbarians that live even farther north, and who sometimes come south to trade. So, he was not even of pure blood. 

“I’d rather not talk with you while you hide your face,” I said, breaking the silence. 

“As you wish, Sir,” was his simple answer. He started to unveil himself, deliberately slowly.

I fought down my annoyance. This was a humiliating situation for me. The boy in front of me was not my equal for whom I, normally, should have to go through trouble to get to talk to. He was a slave of mixed blood, a cut boy, whose only talents were those performed between the sheets. Still, these skills had obviously bought him enough influence that he could himself choose if to meet me, or not. He could stand here now and easily get away with not showing his betters any sort of proper obeisance. 

For a moment I forgot my irritation as he gracefully arranged the veils around his shoulders, baring his highly held head to me. Though I could see how every movement he made was carefully planned for effect, I _was_ still affected. 

He was quite something to look at. Not even the unappealing pale color of his eyes could make this face less attractive. Being in my sixties, I was now of such an advanced age that youth alone often held enough appeal for me to gawk over, but this boy was something else entirely. His beauty should not be surprising to me, I thought. Why would a king, such as the one I’d sworn loyalty, choose anything less for a plaything? I didn’t want to show, in any case, how he revealing his looks had made me pause in admiration. 

“Do you not kneel to free men?” I said, not able to hide a frown. I couldn’t afford to scare the eunuch away, or risk offending him, but I couldn’t refrain from remarking on behavior that seemed outrageous to me, even under these unusual circumstances. 

He smiled only a little. “I beg your forgiveness, Sir,” he said. “I meant no disrespect. This is a very dirty floor and I hesitated to insult my master, the _king_ , by ruining the valuable clothes he graciously gifts me with. Will you be so kind to give me some time to arrange these veils on the floor? They’re expensive, too, but not quite as much as the imported silk of my robes. Then I will kneel and bow to you.” 

The boy made a move, as if to pull off the veils, and challenged me, with his eyes, to insist on it. He knew perfectly well that the way he had put it, I would now look foolish demanding it. 

I found no clever words to retort with and told myself it was beneath me to play such games with a slave anyway. I swallowed my ire and got back to the important business at hand. “Do you know who I am?” I asked. 

He recited my full name and title without hesitation at this question. 

“You have been told what I am the leader of?”

He nodded.

“Then you must know what I want to talk to you about.” I went on. 

He raised his finely arched eyebrows in mock surprise at that. “I’m afraid it’s quite beyond my ability to understand, why a noble, such as you, Sir, would ever wish to talk about anything at all with a lowly slave such as I.”

He sought to gain control of the conversation and have me spell things out. I wanted to slap him, and warn him not to play these silly games with me. However, I knew that what I would ask of him was not something a slave simply could be ordered to do. I would need his voluntary cooperation, and I had no power to force him. The boy knew that, too. He seemed eager to get what amusement he could out of this rare opportunity, having the upper hand over a free man. 

Again I reminded myself to tread carefully.

For over a year, I and my co-conspirators – men from the nobility and the army – had carefully planned and plotted in secrecy. At all times we had been in danger of discovery, which would mean our certain deaths. We had not been discovered, and now we were ready. We were ready to take over, to start the revolution. 

There was only one more thing we needed, and that was contact with the very man we did all this for. We needed to let our rightful king know that there were still loyal royalists out there who wanted to see him back on the throne, where he belonged. He should sit on that throne as a _true_ ruler, not as a king by name only; a puppet on a string in the hands of his own council. The king was, for all intents and purposes, in house arrest, and was stripped of all his power. We intended to put a stop to that. We needed to let our king know that his freedom was close at hand, that the kingdom, which had been stolen from him almost as soon as his father had died, would be returned. The king needed to be prepared to seize power, and to show himself to the people, leading the revolution we would start for him. 

We hadn’t tried to establish contact before, for fear of our plans being revealed too early, but for the last few weeks we had tried nothing but. It had proven very difficult, since the king and his queen were very well guarded by the council. 

Then, somehow, we had managed to get in contact with this boy, now standing so brazenly in front of me, since long the king’s bedmate and favorite slave. 

He would be the perfect messenger. 

The king had no reason to trust many people outside his closest family. Our problem had not only been to get the words to him at all, but also to make him believe them. Why would he trust us? Maybe we were a trap, set by the council. If he fell into it, he would prove he was not such a docile puppet after all. The council might have him assassinated. 

This boy, however, had managed to keep his master’s interest for six years, which is a remarkable feat for any bed slave. For a king there are constantly new ones to have at the merest wink of a hand, and rarely would any be kept for a longer time. The slave must have some sort of influence. Yes, the eunuch was beautiful, but even if such beauty is rare, it’s hardly unique. There must be something else between this boy and the king. He must have his master’s trust and confidence. If the king would believe any messenger, this would be the one. 

So, the fact that I was here now, talking with him at all, was the peak of a fantastic streak of luck for our movement. Or… was it? 

We were not stupid; of course we understood the risks involved. Was it really only luck, and plotting skills, which had allowed us to come in contact with the king’s confidant, or was the council simply letting us? Could the slave really have been able to steal unseen out of the palace, past the council’s guards, so easily to meet with us? Or was he here now with their good memory? Was the council, at this very moment, luring us into a trap, using the pretty eunuch as bait? 

I had arranged a meeting with the slave tonight, partly to find out if we could indeed trust him, and where his loyalties might be. Did he understand that if I decided he couldn’t be trusted, then this alley would no longer be the open grave of that small mummified dog outside the door only – but his, too? He must have understood. 

He didn’t seem afraid at all. 

“Did you walk through the streets alone?” I asked him.

“Was that not what I was asked to do, Sir? Come here alone?”

“Yes, but at night the streets are not safe for women, and… boys of your kind.”

“Indeed they are not, Sir, but if I am asked to risk my safety for my king and master, then that is a small price to pay.” 

I said nothing to this and he smiled. “You do not trust me, Sir? You fear I might have shown the enemy your whereabouts?”

I got straight to the point then. “No, I do not trust you. There are many strange things about this, and much that seem to be too good to be true. How was it possible to reach you in the first place? How were you able to leave your master’s rooms at all, let alone the palace? Can you read and write?”

He raised his eyebrows at the last question, maybe wondering what it had to do with anything. “Of course I cannot, Sir. Why would a slave, such as I, ever be taught such things?”

I believed that to be true. Slaves of his kind were usually forbidden any sort of book learning. “Yet, you have been sending us letters. Who wrote them for you? Who else then know of our meeting here?”

He wasn’t discomposed in the least at these questions. “You need not worry that anyone else than I know of this. Not even the king knows. If your lordship had been more observant when reading my letters, before, doubtlessly, destroying them, you might have noticed how the words were written by many different hands.” 

For a short moment there was a grim twist of his lips. “Any simple servant in the palace knows better than I how to scribble words. For a small trinket, or a slice of walnut cake from the king’s own table, though, many of them are willing to write a word, or two, on a folded piece of paper. None of them knows what the others wrote, or what the full message spells out. None of them care what silly games the spoiled cut boy are playing, as long as they get cake.”

I was impressed by his cleverness. As simple as the idea was, I doubted I would have thought of it.

“So, it explains the messages,” I said. “It does not explain how you were able to send them to us. How can you move around this freely on the whole, without the council knowing?”

He actually laughed; a small, soft and highly amused laugh. “Of course they know. I am their spy after all,” he said.

My right hand, resting on the pommel of my sword from old habit, almost cramped around it. I stared at the boy in shock. Such an open admission of guilt, given me with a carefree laugh, no less, was the last I had expected. I couldn’t make sense of it, and I was at a loss for words. 

There was no mistaking his satisfaction at my stunned expression, but his smile soon enough died out on his lips. His eyes were drawn to my hand, clutching the sword pommel. “Before you run me through, Sir, please allow me a few moments to explain. I am no threat to you. I cannot escape from here, and hardly defend myself, if you see the need to kill me.”

“Explain then,” I said changing my grip to the handle and pulling the sword a few inches.

He looked like he forced himself to take his eyes of my sword hand. “The council came to me already two years ago,” he started. “They promised me freedom, and many riches, in the future if I did their bidding. They wanted me to spy on the king, and report back to them, anything which might suggest he was trying, in any way, to regain his power. Now, a bed slave is often enough replaced by a new one. Most of us would see a better opportunity in accepting such an offer, than remaining loyal to a master that would soon tire of us, but… My master is different, and I am more than a simple bed slave to him. I refused them, and did not worry my master with what had been said. However, since they did not give up, and kept trying to tempt me, I did eventually tell my master about it. He advised me to take them up on their generous offer.”

“I do not understand,” I said.

“It was very clever of my master, as he could now control what I told the council about him. He hoped it would keep them from employing other spies around him, who would be less loyal. I have been giving the council information regularly since. It’s mostly of the trivial and useless kind. A few times I have given them more damning information, which made them punish my master by restricting his movements even more. Sir, believe me when I say how much that pained me, but it was done in full collaboration with my master, who willingly sacrificed his relative comfort for the greater good.

“The council, seeing me ‘betraying’ my master in this fashion, was now convinced of my loyalty. They were also convinced of my cleverness, since they believed the king never figured out who had betrayed him about these matters. By and by, they gave me more freedom to move around, and I used it to listen, see, take notice and remember. Not much gets by me, Sir. Eventually they sent me on other secretive errands as well. Any such missions I always try to perform to their satisfaction. I really do what they want of me, as long as it does not involve hurting my master, in which case I sadly ‘fail’. 

“So, as you can see, Sir, it was not very hard for me to, undetected, let you find me and correspond with me. Nor was it much of a challenge to leave at night to meet with you. The guards know I am often on clandestine errands for the council, and if I look masked and mysterious enough when I go out, they do not stop me.”

“Does the council not wonder why the king doesn’t question your absence?” I asked.

“No, Sir. I have been performing duties in the harem, at day as well as night, since years back. The council thinks my master believes that is where I spend my time away from his side.” 

“I see,” I said. The boy had an answer for everything. I slowly let the sword slide back into its sheath. “It’s a dangerous game you are playing, boy,” I said.

“Aren’t we all, Sir? And aren’t we all convinced it’s worth it, out of loyalty for our rightful king?”

“I know _my_ loyalty is unquestionable,” I said, proud of the fact. “I am still not convinced of yours.”

For the first time the slave looked neither amused nor cocky. “Sir,” he said; his whole demeanor solemn and serious. “If you will allow me to, I will show you something that might put your mind at ease. However, in doing so, I have to step over a few boundaries of what you, I am sure, would consider decent.”

I raised my eyebrows at that, not understanding what he meant. I still nodded my permission. “Do what you need to do, to convince me, or this night will be your last.” 

Was there finally fear in those pale eyes of his? Maybe, but he smiled no more in any case. If he had underestimated me before, thinking me a stupid buffoon of a courtier, who wore his sword just for show, of which the palace contains so many, then he obviously did no longer think so. 

I could play games, too. Since I had arrived at the palace two years ago, this was a role that had served me well. I was not seen as a threat by anyone outside our movement. 

The movement had eventually chosen me as their leader, partly because I was noble enough, but also because my family had always preferred to live far from the city. We did not get involved in the intrigues and the follies of the court. Thus my history was not well known in the palace, and the way I had disguised myself as a snobbish old fool, had made few people inquiring into it. My time in the army was not known by most. The scar in my face was not from a riding accident, as I told anyone asking, but from a man to man fight which left me alive, and my enemy dead. I was no longer that young man, being much stiffer and heavier set these days, but my swords skills were not altogether gone, and my arms were still strong.

It was _this_ man who now urged the eunuch to show me whatever it was he thought would convince me.

The boy slowly let the veils fall to the floor to stand in his robe only. As was common, it covered his whole body, from the neck to the toes, and had long sweeping sleeves. Bed slaves, male or female, are not to reveal the beauty of their bodies in public, only to their masters and in the private examination rooms at the slave markets. Such indecency might indeed be punished hard, and I could see it was only reluctantly that the slave’s fingers started to work on the long row of small buttons at the front of his robe. 

I felt uncomfortable as well. This was for the king only, and possibly for those who are his closest family, and most trusted friends. I had only been able to admire my king from afar, and the slave’s beauty was not for my eyes. I couldn’t understand, in either case, how disrobing would help convince me. For a moment I wondered if he was simply trying to seduce me. However, it was unlikely he would ever think such a despicable act could convince me of _loyalty_ , of all things.

The slave turned around, hunched, as if in shame, and slowly eased the robe over his shoulders. He held it about his waist, and bared his back to me. 

My eyes widened in shock.

It wasn’t the boy’s lithe and finely muscled frame that surprised me, though the graceful slimness was less common as most eunuchs grow quite tall and fat. It was the excessive scarring which shocked me.

I had only seen such brutal scarring before on the lowest of slaves, forced to work the fields and mines, or on criminals. Raised and reddened, some of the scars were as thick as my fingers where they covered his shoulders and ran along his back. I found it strange he had even survived such severe floggings. 

It wasn’t common to treat slaves of his kind in such a manner. These boys were carefully chosen, and cutting them alone is a risky enough procedure that many of them don’t survive it, or turn out as intended. The few who does are well trained during many months. The slave traders invest much time and money in these boys, and thus they are sold only to the rich, for great sums. 

It’s madness to ruin such a costly creature and leave him with such damages. It would be like buying the most expensive of pure bred horses only to put it in front a plow, work it to death, and whip it all the way. 

Now, I could understand, that any owner of a slave as brazen and sharp-tongued as this one would think it necessary to strictly discipline him. Had I owned this boy I would have set to work doing so immediately, and would waste no time taking such manners out of him. However, there are other ways. 

In the house of my father, as well as my own, we always had the outdoor slaves whipped on their backs if they caused trouble or disobeyed, but the household slaves we flogged at the bottom of their feet. Their looks and worth were never compromised. Still, it was pain excruciating enough, even at a rather light hand, that I had never seen anyone suffering through this without much wailing, crying and begging. It was a common method everywhere. 

The boy wasn’t finished. Before my staring eyes he slowly turned once again to show me his chest, as well. It was as ruined as his back, by two large and hideous brands above each nipple. The iron, in the shape of a crudely crafted lotus, had obviously been pushed to deep, and too long, into the poor boy’s flesh. These marks were badly healed and had horribly disfigured the boy. 

What he showed me couldn’t have been done as punishment, or for discipline; this must have been the work of a madman. A valuable boy’s chest and back were destroyed and could never be restored. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the pain and suffering this slave must have gone through. Cocky as he was I didn’t believe he had done something deserving of such treatment.

Shaken at the sight I found no words and kept staring at the destruction.

The slave kept his head high before my appalled stare. “My master, our king, saved me from the man who did this to me,” he said gravely. “In spite of how I look our king took me in, invited me to his bed, and showed me kindness. I, who would be considered destroyed and worthless by anyone’s standard, the king calls favorite. 

“You ask me if I am loyal, Sir? If tomorrow my master was to become the lowest of beggars, so despised that not even a starving dog would take a piece of meat from his hand, _I_ would still leave everything behind to follow him.”

At that moment I was convinced.


	2. Chapter 2

“Sir, may I ask, do you ever speak closely with old women?” the slave said, his voice coming out of the dark. I had to struggle to keep him in sight, my old eyes not as keen, and my feet not as quick, as his.

“What kind of question is that?” I snapped, suspicion and worry making me irritable. 

As we had decided to risk trusting the slave, I had asked him to bring a message to the king. He had claimed he could do much better, and had promised he could take me to see the king in person, to speak with him about the matter eye to eye. 

I didn’t intend to be foolish, or careless, with my life, but the truth was; I wasn’t indispensible. Our movement needed a leader, and it was I, but we had made certain the revolution wouldn’t depend on one person alone. If something would happen to me, my next in command would step in, and take over. Nothing could have stopped me from seeing the king, in any case, now that I had the chance. 

We had agreed.

I was following the slave along the outer wall that protected the backside of the palace. We were disguised by darkness alone, and he was sliding in and out of sight through the shadows. In spite of it all, the fear that he would lure me into a trap was ever present at the back of my mind. My hand cramped around the sword pommel. He would be the first to die if that was the case.

“I have more important matters to attend to than to chat with women,” I sneered in reply to his question. “Old, or young.”

My foot caught in a fallen tree branch and I cursed under my breath as I shook it free. The backside of the palace couldn’t boast of the well kept gardens of the front. The dwellings of the city hadn’t been allowed to come too close to the walls, and this was an overgrown and un-kept stretch of land where the trees fought to grow out of the snaring shrubbery. I couldn’t see, but judging from the smell, and the things I now and then stepped in, people also thought this a good place to rid themselves of the garbage and rubbish they produce. It was, on the whole, not possible to stroll around here with any sort of ease, and no guards patrolled the area. Sneaking around in these bushes, without being discovered, might be easy enough, but to get into the inner palace, where the king was held, we needed to conquer the wall.

“It’s a mistake that many men do,” the slave spoke again. 

At first I didn’t understand what he was referring to, my mind lingering on the wall, but then I remembered his pointless talk of speaking to women. 

“There are only a few old women left in the harem,” he continued, “but from them I have learnt more than many men learn in a life time. For those who care to listen, and can understand the importance of their words, serving them is a worthwhile task.” 

Suddenly the wall was right before us. The slave stopped and turned to me. “Sir, have you heard the legend of the king’s favorite concubine, and the simple mason she fell in love with as the harem was built? It is said to have taken place more than a hundred years ago.”

I was ever more mystified by the slave’s meaningless blabber, and sharply replied that I had not. He now finally lit the small lantern he carried and I could see how he grinned at me before he lifted it high above his head, lighting up a portion of the wall. As far up as could be seen it was overgrown by several kinds of trailing plants, forming a weave seemingly as impenetrable as the wall itself. 

Did the slave mean for us to climb these vines to get into the palace? I couldn’t see how that would be possible. Guards might not walk this nettle-infested stretch of land, but they _would_ walk the top of this wall, _and_ the inner yards at the other side of it. Even if we could steal unseen past them, how could the boy think that _I_ could climb up here? I doubted I could have even when I had been the slave’s age. I had been strong and agile in my youth, but I had never had his small and light frame. Farther up this weave wouldn’t have held the weight of my younger self, and it definitely wouldn’t hold me now.

“The legend says that the mason built a secret tunnel leading into the harem, so that the concubine could escape with him.” The slave was still intent on telling me stories. He went on, unperturbed by my glare. “At the night of their escape, they were, tragically, discovered. The mason was tortured and beheaded, and the concubine strangled. The secret tunnel was discovered, and the king ordered it sealed up. Their ghosts, it’s said, still wanders it, trying to find their way out.”

“Why are you telling me these silly stories, slave?” I said, close to anger now.

“Because, Sir,” he answered. “It’s not a legend.” He lowered the lantern, bent down and pulled at the vines. The flame flickered in a sudden rush of cold wind. 

There was a hole in the wall!

**\-----o0o-----**

The first part of the tunnel had us walk the insides of the very wall. The slave fit in it well enough, though it was almost too narrow to contain my much larger body. I kept scraping my shoulders, and I cursed as cobweb got in my face, and gasped as I stepped on things I knew not of what origin.

“Fear not, Sir,” I heard his voice in front of me, laced with amusement. “I’ve come this way many times, and there are no ghosts haunting this tunnel.” The slave seemed intent on mocking. Ghosts were not what worried me. The tunnel, it turned out, was a maze with several blind passages. I had already lost my baring and didn’t remember what twists and turns we had made. I realized that I didn’t only depend on the clever eunuch to get _in_ to the palace, but also to get out of it again. 

While he led me through the damp, earth-smelling maze he explained how one of the old women in the harem had related the legend of the concubine and the mason to him. Only, she had claimed it was all true, and that the unfortunate woman had been her own grandmother. He had then searched for the tunnel for almost a year before he had finally found it. It had been well hidden behind a wall in a small and simple room, where the lowest of the slave girls, who used to serve in the harem, slept.

He had had good use for it, he said. There was no mistaking his satisfaction as he explained how the council no longer was able to control his movements, as they had before. He was clearly amused at being able to fool them. 

The secret tunnel did indeed end in the harem, and the boy showed me the way through the empty halls. The tunnel might not be haunted, but these rooms seemed to be. A place such as this should have been filled with voices, music and laughter. Even fights and arguments would have soothed my mind, but a harem as quiet and desolated as this wasn’t normal. My own harem was small and insignificant in comparison, but it was a lively place, not nearly as dead as this. 

The harem is the backbone of any man of standards, and not at all only a place where he finds his pleasure at night. It’s where he ties valuable allies to him, by accepting into it their women as wives and concubines. It’s where he secures his line by spreading his seed and siring many sons, safe from outside threats. For a powerful man, and especially for a ruler, the harem is of great importance. By sending his father’s women away, together with his numerous half-siblings, and not allowing him to establish his own harem, the council had effectively reduced the king’s influence.

They had not dared to touch the king’s first wife, his queen, and the children she had born him. She was a comfort to him in his captivity, but the harem was all but emptied of life. Left were only a handful of old hags with no ability to give birth, or any powerful relatives still alive. One of which had told the slave the legend of the secret tunnel. 

“You need not fear detection now, Sir.” The slave’s voice before me brought me out of my dismal musing. “There is free passage to our king’s chambers from here. Only the old women might see us, but they are loyal. There are no guards commanded to the doors between his private chambers and the harem, since the entrances to both are already well guarded.”

The boy was right, we met no one to stop us and ask our errand. In spite of this, the closer we came, the harder my heart pounded in my chest. It was, however, quite another kind of anxiety that plagued me, than worry of detection. 

My family has always been passionate royalists, and loyalty to the throne was passed down to me with my mother’s milk. My father had once been allowed a private audience with the present king’s father – a great king, under whose rule the land had flourished – and it was the height of his life. It was a story he often related to us children. I was now soon to be granted the same honor. Mine was an even greater honor since my king was in peril, and I was in a position where I could help. My heart was swelling with pride, but at the same time I was as nervous as a small boy on his first day in school. Neither age, nor experience, seemed to abate this excitement.

Finally we reached a small antechamber. The slave opened a door for me before quickly disappearing and closing it behind my back. I found myself in a very dark and heavily incensed room, where I could only barely discern the form of a reclining figure farther inside. It had to be the king! I started to sink to one knee in reverence, but I was stopped. Suddenly there was someone standing by my side, and a gentle hand touched my elbow, pulling me up. 

“Please,” a dark voice spoke close to my ear. “I wish no formalities between us. Spare your knees this discomfort and come sit with me.”

The king, for it was no other, led me inside and had me recline on a divan placed in a corner. He walked around the room and lit up a few lamps by his own hands before joining me, lying down on a divan across from mine. We were so close I could have reached out a hand to put it on his arm. 

The unexpected intimacy was awkward at first, and I didn’t know how to behave. There was nothing formal about this meeting at all. The king was leisurely dressed in soft pants and a light robe, open at the front. His manners were of someone inviting his closest friend to join him for a nocturnal conversation. I had never been prouder

I had of course seen my king from afar before, but I could still not help staring at him now. In the throne room he had been hidden under heavy robes, ceremonial jewelry and large headdress. I had not realized what a handsome man the young king was. Not yet five and twenty he was at the peak of manhood and radiated health and strength. His black hair fell to his shoulders in shiny waves, and his beard was full, and as black as his hair. His naked chest was broad and strong, and his eyes big and dark. I had found his slave beautiful, but that was a strange and curious kind of beauty, like odd objects merchants bring to the markets from faraway lands. This was a _real_ man whose beauty was of _our_ lands. I could think nothing else than that a man who the gods grant such a flawless form would also be blessed by them. At that moment I didn’t doubt he would outshine even his own father, if given the chance.

I was overwhelmed by his presence alone, and could find no words to say, but the king seemed not to notice, and spoke again. “My slave has told me everything,” he said. “Are his words true? Are you my rescuer?”

“Yes, my King,” was my only answer, and the king’s smile at the promise in my voice was so strangely vulnerable. He looked as relieved as a small child at his father coming home.

**\-----o0o-----**

The king’s friendly and intimate manners soon relaxed me, and we spoke long that night. I related all our plans, and the king was much moved and touched at the support he now learned of for the first time. When he heard of the imminent revolution his eyes shone with an almost feverish brightness.

The secret tunnel, and his slave’s use of it, was well known to him. He told me how he had planned to flee through it with his family many times. However, he had not yet dared take such a step. He knew the council would turn the city upside down trying to find them, as soon as the escape would be known, and he didn’t know what kind of support he could expect outside the palace walls. The slave – though spying for _him_ as much as for the council – had not been able to advise him enough of the situation, so far, that he had dared risk it. In the end he had considered the tunnel a last resort, in case he learned the council wanted his head. 

He had waited, and hoped, for any sign of outside support, regularly sending the slave out to look for it. Finally, the day had come.

While we talked the eunuch entered the chamber to serve us wine and fruit. The boy had shed his robes and was dressed as he would be only in his master’s presence. He was mostly naked, wearing a small piece of silky cloth between his legs, held up by thin jeweled chains, to hide his cut manhood. To hide the ghastly scars at his chest and back he wore a richly embroidered short vest. His wrists and ankles were heavily jeweled, and his ears were weighted down with gold – none of which matched the richness of his hair. 

Eunuchs, like women, do not shear their hair from the day their manhood is cut away, as they are, after this, considered a sort of female. Like women they are also not to show their hair in public as this is considered as indecent as being naked among people. The boy’s hair had, so far, been hidden under a tightly wound cloth, but was now taken down. It was revealed to be a silky mass that almost reached his knees, and wasn’t black, or dark, as most people’s hair, but very lightly brown. I found it hard to keep my eyes off its exotic beauty.

His exposed hair and body made me somewhat uncomfortable, but his presence in this capacity assured me even more of the king’s trust in me.

I had doubted the slave’s loyalty to his master, and the king’s affection for the boy, but watching them that night, I didn’t anymore. As the slave served the king from the plates, he went down on his knees before his master and looked up at him with hungry eyes. The king responded to those looks with ever as much greed and leaned down to kiss the slave on the mouth. He even fed the boy pieces of fruit from his own lips, like birds do. 

At sunrise I left the king, and, again, the slave showed me the way through the tunnel. The dizziness I felt, as I walked the early streets toward my home in the city, was not only from the wine I had tasted. My whole being was full of this wonderful night with the king. However, as excited as I was to tell my co-conspirators all about it, I had to rest and sleep for a few hours first.

Later in the day I met with the others to give them what news I had. They were surprised to hear that this wouldn’t be our last secret meeting, and that we would wait a few days still before we ignited the flame. The king had cautioned me not to act too soon, and to plan the take-over, and the arrest of the council, very carefully. It was our only chance after all, and nothing could be allowed to go wrong. The king had asked me to be patient and visit him a few more nights, to discuss the matter further.

The others were bemused at my words, and asked if I had not told the king how carefully planned the revolution already was? It really couldn’t be better planned, and, on the contrary, we risked too much waiting. We had finally managed to inform the king, and so the time to act was now. 

I couldn’t contradict them. Deep inside I agreed that the king’s reluctance to set our plan in motion was strange, but I pushed these thoughts aside. Maybe, I offered as an explanation, I hadn’t sufficiently managed to show the king the importance of acting as soon as possible? Even so, didn’t we do this so that the king could rule us? Then why ignore his orders now? I asked them to be patient for just one more night. I would speak with the king again, and impress on him the importance of speed. 

Secretly I was excited for yet another night alone with the king. After the wheels had been set in motion there would probably not be many more such nights.

**\-----o0o-----**

The next night the eunuch waited for me at a street corner, like he had the night before, and guided me once more into the inner palace. This time, however, I wasn’t taken to the king’s chambers, but was shown the way to a small enclosed garden in the center of the harem. While we waited for the king the slave showed me around, and proved, yet again, to be an informative guide. This, he explained, was a night garden. From all over the country, and beyond, plants and animals, which lived only by night, had been moved here. The queen herself had arranged this garden, only for the king’s comfort and delight. In mourning of his freedom, the king had himself become a man of the night, and was rarely seen in the day– other when the council demanded it. No expenses had been spared.

I walked between the trees in wonder. This garden seemed richer and more alive at night than many a rich man’s garden is at day. There was a constant humming and rustling sound all around me, occasionally interspersed with louder cries from creatures I could not spot, and whose sounds were not known to me. The air was filled with scents and everywhere… flowers. White and pale flowers fed only by moonlight, and in their turn feeding thousands of moths and other pale insects. I had never seen such a colorless garden. It seemed made for the ghosts the boy had spoken of, and not for the living.

“Do you find the garden fascinating, Sir?” A sudden mild voice spoke behind me, and I turned in surprise. I hadn’t expected to meet anyone else than the king, and his slave, at these nocturnal visits.

It was a woman, short and plump, with a small, round and child-like face. She wore a plain white robe that strained over her full breasts, and very little jewelry. Her hair, as long as the slave’s, though of normal dark color, fell loosely over her shoulders. She held a small white cat in her arms, and smiled at me.

The slave at once left my side and walked up to her. Gracefully he sank to his knees and bowed to the ground at her feet. He didn’t rise until she let the cat down to lean over and lovingly caress his head. The eunuch stood up then, as gracefully, head still bowed. She reached up and kissed him lightly on the cheek before sending him away.

I was surprised. Such utter respect I had not seen that brazen slave show even his master, the king. Not until then did I realize that it was the queen that stood before me, my king’s first wife and the mother of his heir. 

Embarrassed by my manners I started to bow deeply to her, but much like her husband, the night before, she wouldn’t let me. “Please. You are our savior,” she said, her voice as child-like as her face. “I will not have you bow to me, or anyone. Will you follow me? My king and husband are waiting for us in the grove.”

She took me by the arm and led me through the grass, and the white cat followed. 

In the grove cushions and pillows were placed on the ground in great numbers. The king was leisurely reclined on top the heap, as casually dressed as the last time I saw him. Like the night before he wanted to hear of no formalities. He invited me to share the cushions with him, and I did indeed find them comfortable, though I worried I wouldn’t be able to rise very gracefully from them later. 

The spot was a strange choice for important, pressing and serious matters, I thought, and I was even more surprised as the queen reclined beside her husband. These were not matters that concerned women. No one would let their wives, or concubines, join them when politics was to be discussed. I didn’t think it my place to remind the king of this, and as the matter _was_ pressing I asked that we speak of it, in spite of her presence. 

The king simply smiled and shook his head. Tonight, he said, we wouldn’t discuss such grave and severe matters. This night was too beautiful to concern ourselves with unpleasant things, such as military action and death. This night we would spend pleasurably together and forget the world outside. It would soon enough remind us of its existence again.

I was stunned at his words. I could understand it wasn’t with a light heart that he thought of the spilled blood that would inevitably follow in the path of the revolution. It was still amazing to me how he could ask us to _forget_ , even for a night. Would he really prefer to stay even an hour longer in captivity, if it could be helped? This garden might be a wonder, but it was still a _cage_.

Again I tried to explain how we might not have much time, and how the outside world wouldn’t let itself be forgotten so easily. He still smiled but his eyes got the look of a petulant child. He explained how he had arranged things only for my enjoyment, and how disappointed he would be if I didn’t want to see what he had planned. Surely the world could wait for just a few hours? 

As puzzled as I still was I could no longer resist him. I forced my worries aside and agreed. This made his smile genuine again, and he turned to whisper to his queen who rose up on her elbow and blew on the few lit candles. The grove fell into darkness. She raised her small and plump hands and clapped. 

Suddenly the small open space before us was no longer empty and I startled in a fleeting moment of superstitious fear at the creature that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. It was completely black and could just barely be seen in the dark, where it moved lithely and almost soundlessly through the grass. Coming closer it seemed to disappear again, and I nervously looked around for it.

A faint sound of rustling chains told me of its position only a few steps in front of us, and as two flames suddenly appeared I saw that the creature had knelt down on the ground. Slowly it rose, pulling lengths of chains up with it, holding its arms out. At the end of each chain there was a small bowl of fire, and the flickering light leapt over a lean, cat-like body. 

Maybe the creature saw my confused stare because there was a short and soft, slightly mocking, laugh. Not until then did I realize it was the eunuch standing before us. 

He wore nothing else than black paint, which made him almost one with the night, and his hair was hidden under a black cloth, not a single piece of jewelry to disturb the image. I was not unaffected by the odd beauty of this strange appearance, but still did not understand its purpose. The slave’s hips started to slowly sway while he swung the bowls in small arcs around his ankles. 

It was a dance! 

Faster and faster he swung the chains until unbroken circles of fire were written on the night air around his lithe body. He seemed almost liquid as he danced inside the circles, his body twisting and spinning. His blackened form occasionally made him invisible to the eye, and the fire seemed to dance on its own. Then flames would cast red shades across his skin again, revealing ever new positions. We couldn’t hear, or see, his feet moving. There was only the sound of the chains whipping the air in ever more frenzied speed, and he seemed to float above the ground. 

I had never seen such a strange dance. 

Young girls and boys dance to show their beauty and health, to entice and please. You are supposed to be cheered up and invigorated by their performance, and to laugh and smile. You are supposed to participate, clap the rhythm, and sing along to the tunes which accompany their moves. 

There was no music to this dance, not even a single drum. In spite of its undeniable dramatic beauty there was also nothing pleasing, inviting, or cheerful about it. The slave danced as if in deep agony, an agony that was not only of the body, but of the very soul. In spite of myself I was deeply moved, and transfixed, by these dragons, chasing their own tails around this manifestation of pain.

Slowly the dance and the swinging came to a halt. The flames weakened and as the slave again held the chains still, hanging from his outstretched arms, they died out. The grove was again too dark to properly see him, and it was only when I realized I did no longer hear his labored breathing that I understood he had disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared.

The three of us, the king, his queen and I, were silent for several heartbeats, as if the mere sound of words would have seemed out of place in the strange atmosphere the slave’s dance had left us in. Applauding and cheering, as was otherwise customary, would have seemed positively crude. 

I felt the king’s hand lightly touch my shoulder. “Have you ever seen anything like it?” he asked me.

I had to agree I had not.

**\-----o0o-----**

The king had been skillful in making me forget the outside world, after all, and not much of importance was discussed for the rest of the night. He asked me of my family, and had me tell stories from my youth. The queen, who never left us, was much amused by them, and occasionally also entertained us with singing, of which she was very skilled. She was a plain looking woman, but of quite considerable charm.

Of the eunuch I saw nothing, but small slave girls kept our goblets full and always had a plate of fruit or sweets ready, to put under my nose. 

I couldn’t bring myself to talk of war.

**\-----o0o-----**

In the early hours I walked through the empty harem on my own, looking for the tunnel. I had seen no sign of the eunuch since his dance and it had become clear that I, for the moment, had lost my guide through the maze. I thought that I had learnt to master it myself by now, and was only somewhat nervous that I might get lost.

I soon enough found the room where the tunnel started, but as I prepared to pull away the screen, which hid the hole, I heard a wheezing cough behind me. I startled violently as I realized I wasn’t alone in the room, and spun around, my sword half drawn. It was an old woman. Her hair was white as chalk, and she was so bent that the cane she held in a claw-like hand seemed the only thing that kept her from falling forward. 

“A strange man in the harem.” She cackled. “I’ll say… I had to live to my nineties to see that. Such a shame... The pretty eunuch with the pale eyes showed you the tunnel?”

“Yes,” I said, feeling more than uneasy at the woman’s watery eyes scrutinizing me.

“Have you met my grandmother’s ghost?” She peered at me, grinned toothlessly, and pointed at the screen.

“There are no ghosts in the tunnel, old woman,” I said.

“Oh… I know.” She laughed again. “There are no ghosts in the palace. It’s only stories to scare the children with.” She kept laughing but suddenly turned serious and stared at me gravely. “No ghosts, young man, but I will tell you what _do_ lurk within these walls. A demon, Sir! A demon lurks here, and you would do well to heed my warning and be wary of it.”

I shuddered. The old woman was mad, no doubt. This time I acted on my unease, didn’t reply to her, and turned to pull the screen aside.

“Beware it,” she repeated loudly while I stepped into the tunnel and pulled the screen back in place. “Don’t let its honey-laced words fool you.”

I sighed in relief as I stepped out into the morning sun, having had no problems finding the right way, but the unease at the old woman’s words wouldn’t leave me. Maybe she was really mad, or maybe she hadn’t meant ‘the demon’ to be quite so literally understood? Who then was it that I shouldn’t trust?

I thought of the slave, how he had danced with fire, without music, disguised as a shadow, and how it had had us all transfixed…


	3. Chapter 3

How many nights are there worth remembering in one’s life? 

The nights that followed were such that I thought I would never forget them. The king, his queen, the slave, and even the garden itself, seemed to work a strange kind of magic on me. When I left in the early morning hours I felt like one of those unlucky people, in children’s tales, who fall victims of weavers of dreams. Every time I stepped out onto the streets I wondered if I, too, had slept a hundred years, and if it was the same city I walked through.

I kept coming to the palace, night after night. For almost a week the king managed to stall the revolution and avoid addressing it more than briefly. Instead it was the slave I discussed these matters with. Sometimes, at those moments, I stupidly forgot what he was, and spoke to him almost as an equal. 

Since the eunuch had had many dealings with the council he had much information that he thought could prove useful to our movement. Every night, away from the king’s ears, he told me as much of their affairs that he could remember, and even brought me documents that he had managed to steal. Since he couldn’t read he didn’t know if what he had stolen was of any use, but he left it to me to judge the value. Most papers were of a trivial matter, or I suppose they would have been better guarded, but on the whole we had much use for the slave’s information. 

While the king stalled, I tried to stall the matter with my co-conspirators as well. I don’t think I could have without the words and documents I brought them from the eunuch. We had considered our plans well thought out, but we gained much new insight this way. Though our overall plan didn’t change, many of its details were revised. We knew better who to arrest, and who to offer pardon.

I was still under pressure to make the king agree with a date, but back in the garden, time stood still and the world didn’t exist. I was as if seduced by the three of them.

The queen had, at first, not had the same effect on me, but it wasn’t long until I felt differently. It was true that she wasn’t a great beauty, and that several births had considerably rounded her once nubile body. However, it was only with the unfair competition of her handsome king, and his pretty eunuch, that anyone would consider her unattractive. During those nights she often walked with me through the garden, her white cats always at our feet, and we spoke long about many things. I came to admire her wit and sharp mind, and couldn’t understand how I once could have thought her uninteresting. 

During several of those talks I got the distinct feeling that the queen – much like that old hag in the harem – was trying to warn me of something, something of which she couldn’t speak openly. I never managed to quite make sense of those perceived half-spoken warnings, but they made me think of the slave again.

Like the cats he sometimes appeared from between the trees to follow at our heels. He was never falling in our speech, as a slave shouldn’t, but his pale eyes didn’t miss anything around him, of that I was sure. 

If it was indeed the slave the queen tried to warn me about, she didn’t show her concerns whenever he was close by. On the contrary she seemed to dote on the boy. She often stroke his hair and cheeks lovingly, and spoke mildly to him. I thought it strange. Most wives and concubines don’t have any love to spare for the boys their husbands sometimes enjoy at the side – variation in bed being good for your health, as most men would agree. Many a particularly attractive eunuch, or uncut slave boy, have found their misfortune, or even untimely death, in the wake of such jealousy.

Maybe the clever eunuch had some sort of hold over her? One night I did witness a scene that made me wonder if that wasn’t actually the case. 

The queen had given her husband four children, but of these, only one, the youngest, was a boy. If the night was still new when I arrived the little prince was sometimes still awake and was with us in the garden. He was already, at four years of age, aware of his status as heir to the throne, and showed quite some regal manners. I was at once smitten by the child, who much resembled his handsome father in looks, and was very forward and strong-willed. 

It would become clear that the eunuch did not share my delight in this child.

That night the little prince declared a few hedgehogs in the garden his subjects, and went about ruling them with much gusto. The queen and I were amused by the child’s mimicking of adult manners, ordering the little prickly animals about. The eunuch, however, looked on with a frown and there was not a trace of a smile on his lips. 

After a while the prince seemed to think it necessary to punish one of his subjects, for not quite listening to his orders. With an angry cry he raised his little toy sword to strike the offending hedgehog with it. I saw the queen reach for the boy, no doubt to save the poor innocent animal, that wasn’t really aware of its new ruler, after all, but the eunuch was quicker.

He grabbed the prince by the arm, just before the little weapon could hit its intended victim, and tore the toy sword out of his hands, throwing it into the bushes. The child protested angrily at this and wailed and kicked at the slave, but he didn’t let go. “Never do such a thing again,” the eunuch growled at the prince, holding him by his upper arms. “Never, ever hurt someone who is smaller and weaker than yourself! Do you hear? _Never_!”

I was shocked that the eunuch would dare do such a thing. He might be the king’s favorite in bed, and of much use to him as a spy, but none of those things justified a simple slave daring to seize the arms of the very _crown prince_ in such a manner, speaking so harshly to him. I expected the queen to lash out at the slave for such a transgression, and to see to it that he was punished, but the queen did nothing.

The eunuch let the child go, and he ran crying to his mother who lifted him up into her arms and consoled him. What amazed me the most, however, was the look the queen gave the slave. It was full of sadness and concern. 

It was as if he couldn’t stand the pity in her eyes, and he turned and ran away from us.

I didn’t want to interfere in family matters, but I couldn’t refrain from asking the queen why she would let the slave do such a thing and not have him punished. She merely gave me the same sad look, and said that it was a complicated matter of which she didn’t want to speak. She asked me instead to forgive the eunuch for behavior that had really not been of ill intent.

Yes, what strange influence did the pale-eyed slave have over the queen? Again I thought of the old woman’s warning.

**\-----o0o-----**

When I arrived in the harem the following night, I was met by the old hag as soon as I stepped out of the tunnel. She had obviously been waiting for me and grinned toothlessly in recognition when I stepped around the screen.

“Have you met our demon yet?” she asked me.

“You talk nonsense, old woman,” I said. “Tell me outright what it is you are warning me of, and I might listen to you.”

“I cannot, young man,” she replied. “You would not believe me. But I will tell you where the demon is tonight, and you can see it for yourself.” 

The old woman described the way to an abandoned corridor at the farthest back of the harem, and promised I would see something that would interest me. I would hear which room was occupied, she said, and she urged me to stay silent and careful so that the demon wouldn’t spot me. She left, but I hesitated to follow her instructions. Wasn’t it simply a mind clouded by old age that spoke through her? In the end, though, curiosity got the better of me. I went to find the corridor she had spoken of. 

I did hear murmuring voices from one of the rooms, just as the old woman had described. The door was slightly ajar, and I hesitated no more but took my shoes off, silently tiptoed up to it, and peeked through the small crack. I admit I was again gripped by superstitious fear. Would I really see a demon? 

What I saw was a naked boy, standing in the middle of the room, his back to me. That same back was severely scarred and adorned by a long, light brown braid. It was the eunuch. My heart beat hard in my chest. I had _known_ it, that the boy was ‘the demon’. Was he here to meet with a representative of the council? I was so sure that I would witness the slave’s betrayal of our cause that I didn’t even stop to think how odd it was that he would do such a thing in the nude.

The voices had silenced, and instead I heard a mysterious creaking sound. I saw the slave slowly raise his hands, held in front of him, but when he lifted them over his head I realized they were bound with a chain and that someone was slowly hauling them up. When the creaking stopped the slave was left balancing on the very tip of his toes. His struggles to keep contact with the floor apparently amused a, yet unseen, onlooker. I could hear someone laugh farther into the room. That someone let the boy struggle a while longer, but then the slave was simply hoisted a foot in the air with a single violent jerk that left him swinging from his abused wrists. 

I was confused. Why would the council do something like this? In the next moment I would learn that the council had nothing to do with it. The other person in the room walked up to the swinging body, and stilled it by putting his arms around it. 

It was the king, and he was as naked as his slave.

Shocked, my mind desperately searched for an explanation. I thought of the slave’s behavior in the garden the night before, and I thought that maybe this was his punishment for taking such liberties with the little prince. An ordinary matter then, which didn’t need me as a witness. I told myself to stop spying on my king and leave the corridor.

However, this still didn’t make sense to me. This didn’t seem to be a common method of punishment, and the king didn’t act as if he was angry. On the contrary, he was smiling, laughing… Who would undress themselves to punish their slave in any case? No, I couldn’t leave yet.

The king caressed the body hanging before him and whispered things that I couldn’t hear. It wasn’t words spoken in anger, that much I could tell, but rather the cooing endearments of a lover. The slave didn’t reply. All I could hear from him was hitched breathing, and I saw how he trembled at the king’s words. 

Suddenly the king swung the boy right around. The eunuch stared straight at the door, and I startled, thinking that my discovery was surely a fact. Strangely enough, there was nothing in his eyes that indicated he had seen me. In them I saw only fear.

The king stepped away to reach for something out of my sight, and when he returned his back was to me. I could still see the slave’s eyes over the king’s shoulder, and when he started to slowly sweep his hands lightly across the boy’s skin I was surprised to see agony in his face. How could the light touches hurt him so? When the king raised his hand and swept it across the slave’s cheeks I understood. He held a bunch of nettles in a gloved hand. 

So far the eunuch had managed to stay silent, but as the fiery leaves burned his face he gave up a choked cry. Cries that became louder as the king seemed to tire of the stinging caresses and instead started to violently flog the boy with the bundle. The nettles were soon shredded to pieces, but he simply picked up another bundle, and started the whole thing all over again.

The king teased the boy’s nipples, ran the leaves along his inner thighs and pushed them against what pathetic remains there were of his mutilated genitals. Then he flogged the slave mercilessly until nothing remained of the bundle, and picked up another one… 

Tears were streaming down the eunuch’s cheeks as he wriggled and squirmed in ever more desperate attempts to avoid the fiery plant. His helpless efforts seemed to greatly amuse the king who laughed as he circled the boy and saw to it that no part of his skin was spared the sting. The boy’s hide was flamingly red, blistered and covered in welts, but the king seemed as blind to his suffering as he was deaf to his loud sobs and cries. 

The boy danced at the end of the chain, much as he had done that first night in the garden. Soon blood started to trail along his arms, the chain galling at his wrists. I was shocked and appalled at the sight, and thought that the king _must_ come to his senses at seeing the blood and cease this strange game. It didn’t even make him pause. 

Finally it seemed as if the king had run out of bundles to burn and flog the boy with. There was now a large heap of dark green leaves under the trembling body, and the distinctive smell of nettles filled the whole room. The king stepped back to watch, and he had the look of an artist, full of pride, before his latest creation. 

Wiping sweat from his brow the king disappeared out of sight again, and suddenly the boy fell onto the heap of shredded nettles. The heavy chain came falling from the ceiling, as well, with great speed, relentlessly battering the cowering body on the floor. 

To this day I cannot say why I didn’t made myself known at that moment. Why didn’t I step into the room to stop this? Oh, the boy was only a simple slave. Maybe he also did deserve some kind of punishment, even a harsh one, and that was my king doing this. The man I had sworn loyalty. I shouldn’t interfere in how a man chose to punish his slave in any case. Though I knew what I saw was something else entirely. That slave was not being disciplined, and the look in the king’s eyes was _not_ one of sanity. 

I should have stopped it, but I did nothing. What hidden darkness in me made me stay there and simply look on, neither putting an end to it, nor walking away? I cannot tell you, because I don’t know myself. 

The eunuch’s suffering wasn’t over. The king gripped the chain close to the boy’s hands and pulled him to his feet. His striped skin was already bruising from the falling chain. The boy swayed and his legs shook, he seemed barely conscious. The king gave him no rest and led the stumbling boy by his chained hands across the floor.

There was a big table in the room, as far as I could see the only piece of furniture in it. The king unchained the boy’s hands, and spun him around, bending him over the table top. Apparently the king had saved at least one more bundle of nettles, and had I not seen it with my own eyes I wouldn’t have believed that anyone could think of doing such a thing with it. 

The king pried the eunuch’s buttocks apart as wide as possible and ground the bundle between them. This seemed to wake the boy from his stupor. He screamed and tried to get away, but his hands, slippery with blood, clawed the polished table top in vain. He wasn’t getting anywhere. The king’s laughter echoed through the room. 

Eventually the boy’s screams must have started to annoy the king. He threw the nettles away and turned the boy around again. He laughed no more as he roared at the boy to be silent. Again, and again, he struck the slave hard in the face with his open gloved hand. He didn’t stop until the poor boy managed to obey him, the screams giving way to heaving sobs. The king seemed pleased at this, and he pulled the boy close, held him, whispered soothing words, caressed his head and kissed him. 

I hoped this meant the end of it, but it didn’t. 

Suddenly the king grabbed the boy by his upper arms and lifted him up onto the table, pushing him to his back. I stared, appalled, as the slave slowly parted his legs, and I could see the king’s member fully erect and ready between them. That the king wanted, and was ready, to have sex after all this, made me even more convinced of his madness. That the boy, seemingly voluntarily, invited him to, made me doubt _his_ sanity as well. 

You join someone in pleasure, not… like this. This didn’t look like pleasure, it reminded of the back room at a butcher’s shop. The boy resembled a side of lamb where he laid, smeared with his own blood. Looking at the king’s expression you might have thought he prepared to gut and quarter him. 

The king pulled the boy closer and pushed inside him. It was not done with any sort of care, but the boy’s hand, again clawing the table top, was the only sign of the agony he must be in. His face was turned away from me, and it seemed he dared not make another sound. The eunuch’s body jerked listlessly as the king used him, and I shuddered all over. For a moment I had a nauseating vision of a madman making love to a corpse.

I startled violently and nearly gave myself away when suddenly the slave came to life and bolted up from the table. He clawed at the king, throwing his arms around his neck, and clutching his legs around his waist, clinging to him fiercely. The king stumbled at the sudden attack, but regained his balance, laughing as he held the boy up. 

It was most definitely not an attack. Hardly believing my eyes, I saw how the boy now desperately tried to drive the king’s member deeper into him, moaning and trashing his head about, smearing the king with his blood. 

Sweat poured from the king’s body as he tried to satisfy the creature that clung to him. They were both moaning, like animals, their lust shameless. I was scandalized, and full of shame over the fact that I couldn’t look away.

It was obvious to me when the king finally climaxed. He moaned deeper than before and a long shudder went through him. It was also obvious that when he did, he considered the game over. With a look of bored disgust he tore the slave off him and pushed him away. The look of forlorn loss on the slave’s face was truly pitiful, but there was no response from the king. At his cold stare the boy fell in a heap at his master’s feet and burst out sobbing. It was clear that _he_ had not found the same release. I doubted he was at all able to. 

The king seemed less than interested in the poor slave’s suffering and frustration. He simply left the boy, still weeping on the floor, and walked away. 

I waited, the boy’s weeping filling my ears, but the king didn’t come back. I thought he must have left through another doorway. I slowly backed away from the door, put my shoes on and walked away as well.

My mind was racing as I found my way back to the garden. A voice at the back of my head kept telling me that it must now be clear who ‘the demon’ was, and that it couldn’t be that poor slave. Yes, I had seen the demon at work now, seen the madness in his eyes.

How could I accept what my inner voice was telling me? Its words threatened to shake my very foundations. I had come to devote my whole life to this cause. I had come to love the king as a son. The revolution could no longer be stopped. I was powerless to, even if I had wanted to. That boy back there was only a slave, and the old woman who talked of demons was mad. 

I convinced myself that I had not seen what I had seen, that I had misinterpreted the whole situation, and mistaking it for something else. What I might have mistaking it for, I had no idea, but I was desperate to silence that voice in my head stubbornly trying to tell me the truth.

I was about to put a lunatic on the throne.

**\-----o0o-----**

The hours that followed were awkwardly strange. I met the queen and walked with her. I showed her nothing of the conflicted emotions inside of me. If she knew what her husband had been doing tonight, and I suspected that she did, she did not show it either. Her pity for the eunuch, and the mildness she showed him, was no longer a mystery to me.

Later the king and, surprisingly, the eunuch joined us, and they too acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired here tonight. I was beginning to think I might have been dreaming the whole thing, but… no! 

The eunuch was again dressed in a long sleeved robe, and I knew it was to hide his marks, and his injured wrists. I knew the paint in his face was less to enhance his beauty tonight than to hide the bruises. I knew I had not been dreaming. I was amazed at how calm and composed the boy seemed, after such an ordeal. How could he move so gracefully serving us, as if the pain was already forgotten? 

The absurdity of the four of us leisurely enjoying yet another pleasurable night in the garden, while none of us mentioned a word of what we all knew, struck me hard. I was no longer under the spell of this place, or these people. I took the king aside to speak seriously with him. 

I told him we could no longer wait. The revolution _would_ start as soon as possible. The king claimed there was still reason to worry about the outcome, and that we might need more time to plan. I remained focused and, as politely as I could, pointed out to him that no such planning had been taking place between us, so far. I urged him to find the courage within him to let us set him free. 

The king nodded slowly at my words, and finally agreed. The time had come, and he listened carefully to all my instructions, not contradicting a word of it.

**\-----o0o-----**

The following night the slave and I led the queen through the tunnel, together with her children and her slave girls. They were to be kept safely in the household of a noble, loyal to our cause, while we stormed the palace. Outside the hole in the wall a small group of armed men waited for us, to escort them on their walk, but the eunuch refused to go with them.

The king was to remain in the palace during the night, waiting for us to take it over. He would stay in the night garden, as we thought it the safest place. As soon as the palace was secure enough, we would fetch him to take the lead and show himself to the people. The eunuch wouldn’t abandon his master at such a moment, he said. He had promised he would stay with the king until the end, and nothing, he swore, could make him break that promise. 

The queen didn’t want to let him go. She cried and tugged at his sleeves, begging him to come with her. With a choked voice the slave told her that he couldn’t obey her this time. He tore himself loose and turned back into the tunnel.

I prepared to follow the escort, excited as never before. It had started, it had finally started, and I would never again have to enter the inner palace through that horrid tunnel. 

However, in the same moment I changed my mind about going with the escort. The slave’s loyalty to his master had set an example for me, I thought. Even after what I had seen the king do to him, only last night, the eunuch thought his place at his master’s side. He would support and soothe the king’s mind tonight, and relieve him of his worries before the big day, mindless of any risks. I thought I should do the same.

I told my men of my decision, and since it really didn’t make a difference, whether I was already in the palace at the storming, or not, they didn’t protest. They left me by the hole in the wall. 

The scene I witnessed from afar when I entered the night garden was one that touched my heart. I had to halt for a moment to take it all in. I saw the king sit on his cushions, the slave at his side. In the light of a few lanterns I saw the king caress his sword, lying across his lap, and how he seemed to be overcome by anxious thoughts. The slave settled behind his back and made the king lean against his chest. Lovingly he leaned over and kissed his master soothingly on the cheeks while light fingers combed the king’s hair. The slave seemed to whisper in his master’s ear and the king relaxed in his embrace. I didn’t want to disturb such a peaceful moment, and didn’t let myself be known.

Suddenly, before my stunned eyes, the slave’s gentle caress changed into a fierce tug of the king’s hair, which bent his head brutally backward. In the flickering light of the lanterns I could see something flash across the king’s throat, and I heard a strangled gurgle. Frozen I saw how the king listlessly slumped back into the cushions while the slave sprang to his feet. He only gave his master a brief glance before he turned away and disappeared between the trees. 

It was only with the utmost effort that I managed to snap out of my shock enough to run up to the king. What I saw on the ground at my feet only confirmed what I already knew. 

The king was dead, his throat slit from ear to ear!


	4. Chapter 4

”I… saw you! I saw you do it…” I gasped, and it was all I managed. I was out of breath, and my mind still refused to believe what my eyes had seen.

I could see the slave freeze as he heard my approaching steps and my voice, but he seemed to gather quickly, and looked nothing but calm and collected when he turned around to face me. Behind him on the floor were a bundle of clothes, and other objects, that it seemed he had been preparing for his flight. The screen was pulled away from the hole. 

As soon as I saw the eunuch leave the garden I knew the small room would be his destination. I had run as fast as my old legs could carry me. I couldn’t let him go through the tunnel.

“Oh,” he said. “You came back, Sir.”

“Yes I did, and I saw you… I _saw_ you do it…” I was too dismayed to continue.

He looked at me unemotionally. “You saw me do what, Sir?” 

I was stunned silent. Having done such a deed mere minutes ago, he would still feign innocence in the face of an eye-witness, without as much as blinking? I shuddered, the real demon was before me, of that I was now sure. 

“You… _murdered_ him,” I managed. “In the most cowardly manner I have ever… He took comfort in you, and you- you… What- what kind of demon are you?” I was too upset, and still too out of breath, to do anything else than to gasp these words, and he actually rolled his eyes at me.

“How, Sir, do you propose I should have done it then? You call me a coward? Maybe it is so. Do you know how old I am, Sir? They all call me ‘boy’, and that is how you see me, as something woman-like, or child-like, small and weak. Isn’t it so, Sir? I am thirty two years old, but _your_ people trapped me in this weak vessel. Yes, I took advantage of his trust and slit his throat while he leaned back into me for comfort. He was much too big and strong for me to have ever managed it in a more… should we say, ‘manly’ way.”

I stared, shocked at how coldly he spoke of it.

“And you call _me_ a demon? Sir, a demon is what I’ve slain, and you know it. You _know_ , Sir.”

“I know no such thing,” I roared. “I know that you are a _murderer_ ; that is what I know.”

“You _do_ know,” he insisted. “Just the other night you saw, Sir, how the king play. I saw you peeking through the crack in the door. You looked on. You saw with your own eyes how he amuses himself, and what he considers a delightful pastime.” He silenced to rip the robe at his chest, not bothering with the buttons, again baring the hideous lotus brands to me. “Look at these brands again, Sir, and tell me it didn’t occur to you then that the man who destroyed my body like this, and the king, is one and the same? You _know_ , or you would have already drawn your sword and killed me.”

I couldn’t answer and the slave’s eyes flashed in anger at my silence.

“Look at my brands, Sir, and then look at the crest on this,” he demanded. He brought forth a knife from his robe and held it out to me.

I shuddered in horror when I received it. The knife was still stained by my king’s blood. I looked at the crest, already knowing what I would see, because I had seen the king’s private crest before. It was a lotus. I swayed.

“He- he has been torturing me for years,” the slave said. The tone of his voice seemed to beg me for understanding and forgiveness.

And I did. At that moment I did understand. I had seen the madness in the king’s eyes. I knew the eunuch wasn’t lying, but how could I forgive? The palace would be stormed in a few hours only. The council would be arrested, and there would be fighting and bloodshed. All the horrors that would come with this day would no longer be for a greater good. It would be for nothing. It would all be in the name of a corpse lying in the garden with his throat slit. 

“Have you no understanding at all of what you have done,” I yelled almost out of control. “You have singlehandedly thrown this country into chaos!” No, I couldn’t forgive. No matter how well I might have understood the slave’s personal motives. 

“Oh I do understand,” the slave retorted. “But you, Sir, do not. Chaos is what this country would have fallen into if the king had ruled it. The council, as corrupt and greedy as they have become, had once a noble motive. They did right in restricting the king’s power at the death of his father. Be sure, Sir, that had you put him on the throne he would have soon had the whole country dancing on the end of a chain, like he had me, while he tortured it, maniacally laughing at its horror, his member rising at its pain.”

I could not stand hearing him speak like that. Almost beside myself I drew my sword, flashing it in his face, roaring at the top of my lungs that he had better shut his filthy mouth. The slave stumbled away from me in fear and fell to his knees. Yes, _now_ he bowed to me, cowering in expectation of a killing slash, instinctively covering his head with his shaking arms in a futile attempt to protect himself. 

It turned out I was still unable to let the sword fall, no matter how painful his words.

I started to pace the room and tear at my thinning hair. “Oh, it is all my fault,” I wailed. “I have been foolish and blind. I shouldn’t have trusted you. I shouldn’t have believed you when you swore your loyalty to the king. How could I have believed you loved him. If I had only seen it for the lie that it was, I would have killed you with my own hands the first night I saw you, and nothing of this would have happened.”

I silenced in surprise at the sound of the slave bursting out weeping where he knelt at my feet. “That was _not_ a lie, Sir.” He cried pitifully. “Yes, I lied about the marks on my body, but when I swore to you that I was loyal, I was honest. I loved the man that was when that madness didn’t take him over. I love him still, and… he is dead…”

The boy shook, overcome by emotions, and he could speak no more. I watched him as he wept. Was he just now realizing what he had done, and was it really grief that I saw?

However, he pulled himself together, stopped crying, dried his face on his sleeves and sat up to look me in the eyes, as brazen as ever. 

Suddenly gripped by compassion, I crouched down and took hold of his upper arms, pulling him close. “Did the council force you to do this?” I asked in desperation. I didn’t want to believe that a slave, a eunuch, could do all this. I didn’t want to go home and wonder which of my servants would think it worth their own death to slit my throat while I slept. I refused to believe this beautiful boy held such cunning evil inside of him. I wanted to hear that he had had no choice. 

He gave up a small cynical laugh. “The council didn’t want the king dead. He was worth more to them alive. How else could they justify their presence to the people, if not by being an extension of the king? The king was rather satisfied with the arrangement too, Sir. Oh, he didn’t like how they restricted his movements and didn’t give him a larger pen to play in, but he was not in the least interested in being a king. He didn’t want to bother with politics and making hard decisions. Didn’t you notice his reluctance to be rescued by you? 

“Oh, he was very excited about the storming and cared nothing for the lives that would be spilled, but he greatly feared the responsibility you would force him to face when it was all over. The council didn’t make me do this. _You_ , Sir, made me do it, you and your movement’s stubborn insistence on a revolution.”

Again shocked at his words, I let go of him and got to my feet. I slowly started to fathom the width of this, and I was stunned to realize that a simple slave could have been at the heart of it all. “What madness has been taking _you_ over?” I said, weak of voice. “What madness can give a simple slave a mind as sharp as this?”

My mind was spinning as it came to me. “You have been playing us all,” I gasped. “You did so much for me, for our movement, and yet you betrayed us, when you took our king from us. You worked for the council for years, you agreed with their motives, and yet you betrayed them, too, practically giving them into our hands. You claim to have loved your master. You served his private lusts, and you guarded his interests, both against the council, and us – yet you betrayed him in the worst way, murdering him while he sought your comfort. What evil is in you that you manage treason in three ways at the same time? Are you not human at all?” 

He smiled, as if he was the free man, correcting the slave that didn’t know better. “You talk foolishly, Sir,” he said, shaking his head. “Betrayal is not such a simple word, and who is a traitor, or not, is written down in history books by the winning side. Did I really betray you, Sir? Didn’t I help your cause in any way I could? _You_ wanted the heads of the council members, Sir, and did I not aid you well in this? You were right to, as well. The council was no longer fit to rule this land. 

“You loved the king, Sir, I know, but isn’t it really, at the very heart of it, this _country_ you are most loyal to? Wasn’t it for the best of the land where you was born that you wanted the king back on the throne? Wasn’t it because you thought him worthy to take care of it? You couldn’t have known his evilness, not as I did, and I couldn’t have told you. You wouldn’t have believed me.”

He was right. I wouldn’t have believed him. I wondered now, if it was the slave who had made sure the old woman had sent me to the place of his torture, so that I could see it with my own eyes.

“You, Sir, on the other hand, are a _good_ man,” the slave continued. “You are loyal to a fault, and innocent in many things still, in spite of your age. This country would need a man like you. The crown prince needs you. Rule for him, Sir, until he gets of age. Watch out for the madness of his father, as it might be present also in the child. I didn’t betray you, I gave you your country.”

I didn’t know if to be flattered, or insulted, at the slave’s assessment of my character. I remained silent in sheer confusion at the words I heard. 

The slave was not finished.

“Did I betray the council? Yes, I did, but tomorrow they will not be on the winning side, and the winners will declare such a traitor a hero. Is that not so, Sir? You knew from the start that I was betraying them, but it’s only now, in the light of this new knowledge, that you are blaming me for it. You have encouraged and praised me for this very thing up until now, have you not?”

Now my face reddened at his words, and I couldn’t contradict them. 

“As a slave I did betray my master. Sir, I’ll grant you that it was a despicable and evil act, but, believe me, he was less of a human and more of a demon each year. Even so, I waited until the last minute. I couldn’t bring myself to do it before… out of love.”

He silenced, tears again forming at his pale eyes, but he determinedly wiped them away. “At the same time, Sir, I’ll admit to you how I hated the demon within him who tortured me year after year. I wanted to kill myself rather than endure the pain and humiliation he put me through. The only thing stopping me was that I knew if it wasn’t me, it would be someone else. The council would give the beast another toy to keep him calm, and I, at least, was used to it, my innocence destroyed years ago. How could I let someone else take my place? How can I feel bad for ridding the world of that demon?”

I turned away from him at these words, leaning against the wall, fighting my nausea. I wanted to order him to stop speaking, but just as I had not been able to look away at seeing him tortured, I now found myself unable to flee from his words.

“What of the queen,” I asked. “Did she know of your plans? Was she behind you in this?”

He gasped, for a moment losing his composure. “No, no, Sir,” he desperately assured me. “The queen is innocent in all of this. You must believe me when I say that. Promise me you will let no harm befall her, or her daughters.”

I nodded. I thought the queen knew and understood many things around her. Maybe she had guessed at the eunuch’s thoughts, when she didn’t want him to go back to the king. I could still not believe she had been behind any of this. I swore I would protect her. Relieved the slave spoke again.

“Sir, you think I couldn’t have done this by myself, being only a simple slave, but I did. The queen wasn’t behind me, and neither was anyone else. You wonder at my evil then, Sir? Oh, you made me. _Your_ people made me what I am. My father was of a foreign land, and you punished his only crime – that of loving a woman of yours – by murdering my parents and sell their children. What became of my brothers and sisters I never knew. What became of me is what you see before you. 

“Your people mutilated me, and for my beauty I was made into an object to please others, an object whose mind and feelings did no longer matter. I was denied all education, Sir, but I have still studied hard in the school of life you threw me in. What you are doing now is blaming me for being a good student. You are demanding of me that I not be a coward, that I be honorable and truthful? Well, those are all manly virtues, are they not, Sir? And I am _not_ a man. Those are properties of free men, Sir, and I am not free.”

I was, again, stunned. It had never crossed my mind that a eunuch could view his own fate in such a way. They are deprived of their manhood, yes, but what miserable slaves would they have otherwise been? At least the cutting made them valuable enough to live in rich men’s homes. I did believe him, when he implied that cutting _him_ had, in hindsight, been a mistake. What remarkable man had we robbed this country of, in doing this to him? We would never know. What we had instead was this half-man who had murdered our king. 

I heard his words, and I understood them. I could see how, in this case, good and evil was not clearly written on labels to easily pin on the right objects. He might even be the true savior of our country, instead of, as I thought, our movement. It didn’t matter. I could never hope to make anyone else see and understand all that I had seen and understood these last cursed nights. 

No matter the circumstances, no matter the justifications, his was a crime that there was no forgiveness for. 

I put my sword back in its sheath and looked down at him sadly where he still knelt at my feet. 

“How had you planned to ever get out of this?” I said. “Where would you have gone? If I had not come back tonight, we would have still found the king’s body in the morning, and we would have known the murderer was you. You were the only one with him. We would have scoured the country for you, and sooner or later, we would have found you. Where could you go? You are only a eunuch, by your own admission a grown mind in a boy’s body; not having known a free man’s life since early childhood.”

He looked up at me with eyes that held no doubt in them at all. “I would have managed, Sir. _Somehow_!” He reached a hand out to pleadingly touch at my foot. “Please, Sir, let me go. Let me go through the tunnel. If they find me, so be it, but please give me this chance.”

I closed my eyes, sorely tempted to do as the boy begged me, but how could I? I was still a loyal royalist. I couldn’t live with the thought of letting a king’s murderer go. I simply couldn’t. 

“If I turn you in,” I said, “or if I let you go through the tunnel, and they find you later, do you realize what will happen to you? Your death will be a spectacle. Nothing the king ever did to you will compare to what they will make you suffer before you die. That death will be denied you as long as the best doctors can keep you alive. Do you, at all, understand what they will do to you?”

He paled and clutched at his stomach, steadying himself against the floor with his other hand. “Then… there is nothing you can do for me, Sir?” he pleaded, “nothing at all?”

I swallowed hard. I could no more stand the thought of giving him over to such a fate, than I could stand letting my king’s murderer slip out of my hands. I knew there was only one thing to do. The mere thought made me sick, but when he looked up at me, those pale eyes asking me for mercy, and knowing all that I did… How could I deny him the only help I was able to give him? 

“I… I will kill you myself,” I finally said. “I will try to make it as painless as I can.”

He still looked me steadily in the eyes. “Thank you, Sir,” he said.

**\-----o0o-----**

He lay down on the floor and I knelt beside him. I put a hand under his neck and lifted his head onto my lap. “I will make it a quick thrust,” I promised him. “I think… I hope, you will not feel much.” The lotus-crested knife felt slippery in my sweaty hand.

His pale eyes stared past me, and his lips trembled. I started to ramble, all the calming words I could think of, as I tried to soothe him and distract his attention away from what was to be done. I didn’t want him to panic and try to get away from me. I didn’t want to use more force than I had to. If my words helped, I couldn’t tell. He shook, and his temples were pearling with sweat, but he stayed on my lap.

Tears welled up in my eyes, and bile rose in my throat. I had killed only once before, in my youth, but that had been in battle, against an enemy that as soon would have killed me. It was nothing like this. How could I have agreed to this? Now he would make a murderer, and a traitor, of me as well. Did he know this night would haunt me for the rest of my life? 

I parted the torn robe and felt for his heart. It beat frantically against my palm, his chest heaving. He turned his eyes to me then, opening his mouth. Not a single word came over his lips. Maybe he was too afraid to utter a sound? Perhaps he understood words wouldn’t make a difference anyway? Maybe he was only trying to ask me to be faster about it? 

I couldn’t stand his eyes, couldn’t do it while he looked at me, and have that sight imprinted on my mind forever. I put my hand over his eyes while I kept talking to him. At first he flinched away, but then he gave in to it and let me cover them up. I could feel his fear as a taste in the air between us, still, he stayed. Whatever evil was in that slave, a coward he was not.

Carefully and slowly I lifted the knife, trying to do it without him knowing. Maybe he had been able to see between my fingers, after all? Suddenly his hands came up and grabbed at my arm. His sudden resistance was not much of a challenge. I could easily have thrust that knife with his hands still clutching my wrist. I was much too strong for him, and he must have known how futile it was. Still, lust for life is strong in us all, and maybe he couldn’t help doing what he did? I didn’t fight him. I couldn’t bear to act that forcefully.

“Don’t do that, child,” I said. “Do not torture yourself in such a way. There is nothing to be afraid of; it will be over so fast. I know… I know you don’t want to die, dear child. I don’t want to be the one to take your life, but what other options are there? We both know it. Please… Please do not fight me.”

His arms started to shake while I spoke, finally he let go and let them rest at his side again. I pressed my hand harder over his eyes, and it was wet from his tears. I was not quite aware what I said to him now, maybe I even sang a little? Songs like my mother used to sing to me many, many years ago, to soothe me when I was afraid of the dark and couldn’t sleep.

Then I drove the knife through his heart with all the strength I could muster!

I held him down and twisted the knife brutally before ripping it out again, my only intent now to make him die as soon as possible. I wanted to spare him as much pain and anguish as I could. His blood spurted on me and gushed out of the wound to pool around him. I stepped back in horror, shaking violently. 

I had to get a grip of myself. I was still holding the knife in a white knuckled grip when I forced myself to crouch down beside him again. He was dead, of that there was no doubt.

His eyes stared up at me in frozen horror, the paleness of them now appearing utterly ghastly. I shuddered, regretting that I couldn’t close them. Holding my hand over my mouth I tried to stop shivering so that I could push the knife back into the wound. The sound of the blade scraping against the severed ribs made my stomach turn. It was even harder to touch at his cooling hands to fold them around the handle of the knife.

I stepped away from him, staring at the body. The shudder that shook him as the knife went through… The hotness of his last breath pushed out of his lungs against my cheek… I couldn’t make these things go away from my mind. 

There was a sudden scream from far away, and startled by the sound I spun around and listened. A few moments later there was another scream. It had started! It had become morning and it had all started. My co-conspirators, all our men and allies, were storming the palace. The fights, the killing and the arrests had begun, but all the excitement I had ever felt for this day was forever gone from my heart. 

I still had to join them.

However, struck by an impulse, I turned back to the sad corpse in the small room one more time. Carefully I pulled his long braid up from under his back, relieved to see it had not been stained by his blood. I don’t know what made me do such a thing, but I drew my own knife and quickly I cut the braid close to his head. When I walked out of the room I rolled the hair into a ball and hid it under my shirt. I didn’t look back.

**\-----o0o-----**

Of the storming not much is to say. It went according to plan. Before all this, I might have viewed it as a heroic attack. Now I saw only the sadness of the whole affair.

I still let it happen, and did my part. What choice did I have? 

Not until it was all over, and the palace secured, did I gather my co-conspirators, together with some of our armed men, and showed them to the garden. In silent shock they gathered around the king’s body. All feeling, I am sure, the same doom I had felt witnessing the murder. 

I could no longer share their dismay. 

When I looked down at my king’s body, now for the second time, contradictory feelings fought within me. There was grief for the man that had been our hope, and for a person I had loved. There was also the knowledge that that man had never really existed, and that my sadness was for the death of a dream. I saw only the demon now, which had tortured that helpless boy and found such pleasure in it. I saw only the demon which would have done the same to us all, if not for the council. For that creature’s demise, I felt nothing but relief. 

I was forced to shock them twice that day, when I showed them the murderer next. No one could understand why the boy had done it, and I couldn’t tell them what I knew of his motives. What I did tell them was half a truth and half a lie. 

I related to them how I had returned to be with the king, and how I had witnessed the murder from afar, not being close enough to stop it. I explained that I had known the slave would flee through the tunnel, and how I had rushed to stop his escape. Those words were all true, but when I said I had found him like this, obviously having plunged the murder weapon into his own heart, I lied. 

I couldn’t tell them how I had helped the eunuch end his life. Had it been known I had robbed the people of the revenge on their king’s murderer, I would have been treated as a traitor myself. Maybe, I said, the eunuch had been overcome with guilt, or he had understood there really was no escape from a punishment that would be horrific. 

I knew my words condemned him. His memory would be spat on forever, in the written history of our country, as well as in peoples’ minds and words. I knew that today his body would be torn to pieces and fed to the dogs. Only I would know that the truth was not so simple. His words, his excuses, all still rang clear in my ears, and I would never be able to dismiss them as not being at least part of the truth. I would be the only one knowing that he had not deserved any of this. 

One of my armed men, a seasoned warrior with his sword still drawn from the earlier fight, stepped up to the corpse and contemptuously poked at it with his foot. “What a coward,” he said, spitting in a face that apart from the staring eyes was still remarkably beautiful in death. 

I wanted to push him away from the boy and angrily let him know that he was wrong – that was not a coward lying at our feet. However, I couldn’t even save that small piece of his reputation. I looked away and remained silent. 

Again he poked the body and looked up at me in surprise. “Sir,” he said. “What happened to his hair?”

I felt myself flush red, feeling the silky ball against my naked chest. “How should I know such a thing?” I snapped. I quickly turned to the other soldiers who crowded the small room, trying to look over our shoulders. “Take care of it,” I ordered sharply. As I left the room they swarmed the body, the sickening sounds of its mutilation and the soldiers’ growls tearing into it following me as I fled. I couldn’t show anyone the tears I was no longer able to hold back.

**\-----o0o-----**

I leaned back into my pillows and moaned. My feet hurt and my back ached. There had been weeks since the takeover, but forming a new council and ruling this land was no easy matter. Every day started early and ended late. I was all the time tired and felt even older than my already advanced years.

While we formed the new council we had sworn to not make the mistakes of the last one. We wouldn’t fall for the same temptations and let greed and hunger for power rule us. I was the leader of the new council, as I had been the leader of the revolution, and I tried to be the good man the eunuch had claimed I was. However, already I found myself watching the new little king’s games with a frown. Much in the same way the slave had, I was looking for signs of the madness. I knew the day I thought I could detect it; I would start to rule differently. 

Near sleep, I reached over to the night stand and opened the box that always stood beside me. I took out the eunuch’s long light brown braid, and closing my eyes, I held it against my cheek…


End file.
